


One Direction in the Apocalypse

by Anonymous



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Based on The Stand, Gang Rape, Hurt Harry Styles, I'm sorry Harry and Zayn, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Rape Recovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28403055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Set a few years in the future, where a mutated flu kills 99.9% of the earth's population. Zayn Malik is in prison, due to an unfortunate accident in which he hit a homeless person with his car. In prison, for his own protection, he joins a gang who enjoy  sexually abusing other prisoners. To his combined horror and intrigue, he discovers he enjoys joining in the "fun".After escaping from the prison, they come across Harry, and decide to force him to be their sex slave.Both Zayn and Harry are eventually rescued by the rest of the band.None of the other four ex-One Direction members are aware that Zayn is not innocent in terms of contributing to Harry's trauma, particularly as Harry is now in a practically comatose state.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 22
Kudos: 29
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into One Direction Fandom. Please heed warnings.  
> First chapter in particular is very dark and contains violent and humiliating gang rape. The virus in this fic is based on "Captain Trips" from Stephen King's "The Stand".  
> Zayn is a rapist in this fic. This is absolutely not meant at all to be indicative of true life person, nor, indeed any of the other real life people involved. This is purely fiction.

Zayn was six months into his prison sentence when he viewed Harry again. The communal television was getting less fought over, in the wake of the ones getting sick and being confined to their rooms. Zayn noticed the coughing and sneezing around him and expected to experience the rise of phlegm in his throat, the spasm of his larynx; however, it continued to not happen. Hence, with no one to argue programming, the overly muscular Frankie was flicking through the television one drizzled afternoon, when a channel displayed Harry giggling along with James Corden.

“Who’s the pretty boy?” Frankie asked, settling back in his chair. “I could show him a good time.”

“I know him… or knew him…” Zayn admitted, causing heads of the prisoners lounging around the television to turn to him.

“Back in your old life?” Frankie prompted.

His old life.

Zayn soon discovered, upon arriving in the prison, that no one cared for him as a solo artist, much less once member of a famous boy band. He had gone into the prison expecting to be harassed, on account of his status. On the contrary, most of the prisoners hadn’t heard any of his solo music, and were certainly not interested in the fancies of mainly teenage girls from ten years before. That the people in prison didn’t care for current pop musicians was an initial shock to his system.

However, this knowledge didn’t stop him from being harassed, on mere account of his good looks and young age, over fame.

In response to the continual cat calls and threats of rape, on his third day in prison he grabbed a dumbbell and whacked the toughest prisoner he could find in the back of the head, causing the man to spend two weeks in the hospital, and adding three years to Zayn’s sentence.

After that particularly vicious display of his physical prowess, the harassment distinctly lessened; however, he wished to put a stop to it permanently.

Hence, after the third day following being released from solitary, he attacked the second toughest man of the prison. The pencil… he wasn’t sure why he inserted the pencil. He suspected for extra humiliation.

“We were in a band together,” Zayn declined to elaborate that the night they came together for the first time in ten years to collect an award was the same one that his car, a combination of cocaine and alcohol. and an unfortunate staggering homeless man intertwined.

“God damn,” Frankie crooned, as on the television screen, Harry’s lips uplifted in his famous dimpled smile. “He wouldn’t last five seconds in here.”

“Please tell me you fucked that man?” The gargantuan in both height and width sized Brutal, sitting beside Zayn on the other side of Frankie spoke, a grin uplifting his wide lips.

“Nah, he was too prissy for me,” Zayn said, to the laughter of the others.

*

The prison escape was not one to rival Steve Mcqueen. To the group’s leader Clint’s credit, he at least caught The Great Escape reference, even if the others didn’t. By this time, the majority of the prison had been deserted, the dead carted out, or left to die in their cells. In the final days, news channels continued to state there was no superflu, despite evidence to the contrary. Zayn suspected that being in prison was a shield, of sorts, from the despair of the outside world, where the rumoured death rate from this mutated flu was rumoured to be 99.9%.

The surge hit the planet, short circuiting all electricity. Experts, that the prisoners would never hear from, stated to the dying government members they were uncertain whether it was the result of a genius terrorist hacker, or attempt of domination by a plotting terrorist government, or even an act of god from the result of a random and unfortunate solar flair. Regardless of the reason for the surge, the end result was the same worldwide. Planes fell from the sky, and all communication, including mobile phones and television, was short circuited, effectively rewinding the entire planet back to the dark ages.

The only positive was that they were able to easily escape the prison. The four surviving prisoners coincidentally were a part of Zayn’s acquaintance group. They simply walked through the kitchen, used a dead guard’s keys to walk out into the yard, threw a stick at the fence to verify it wasn’t electric and then utilised a knife from the kitchen to cut their way through. The fact no one attempted to stop them proved to Zayn they truly were the only ones still alive.

*

They discovered the motorbikes a kilometre up the road from the prison. The result of a gunfight between rival gangs, with no victors. With one bike each, all four men cherished their good fortune.

Their good fortune continued two hours later, when they came upon the lone campfire, with a two-man tent set up behind. The sun had now peeked down under the horizon, lending the air a chill that seeped under their tatty prison clothes. The figure sitting with his back to them spun around, holding a weapon up. Zayn clambered off his bike and came towards the figure, mouth agape.

“Oh, my good…You’re… you are…” Harry’s rugged tone was as velvet as Zayn had remembered. “Zayn?”

Zayn laughed and rushed forward, engulfing Harry in his arms and relishing the warm firm body against his. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.”

As the others moved to surround them, Zayn pulled back.

“You look familiar,” Clint said to Harry.

The expressive diminutive features widened and Harry backed away from Zayn, gun rising towards the three other interlopers. “Who are you?”

Zayn glanced at the identical prison outfits and understood his trepidation.

“You know this man?” Brutal asked Zayn. “He does look familiar…”

“It’s probably good to have the gun. Can I see it?” Clint asked, stepping forward to now stand beside Harry and place a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”

“He was one of my band members,” Zayn said.

“I remember now! He was on tv a few months back. Remember guys? Talking to that fat tv host,” Brutal said.

A distinct jolt passed through Harry at his friend James being labelled as fat and his brows creased. To Zayn, Harry’s irritation held a fair point, considering Brutal’s own obesity.

“It’s okay,” Clint repeated, again gesturing for the weapon.

“It’s freezing! Do you mind if we sit by the fire?” Frankie asked.

“Oh, ah I guess…” Harry’s green irises flashed to Zayn.

“Looks like a nine millimetre,” Clint said.

Harry bit his bottom lip, glanced again at Zayn and allowed Clint to take the weapon from his hands to appear to study the contraption, as introductions were made, the men settling themselves around the blazing warmth.

_Damn it, Hazza. I thought you were meant to be smart! Why did you just give a stranger your only means to defend yourself?_

“Zayn, I just wanted to say… with what happened to you… that wasn’t right,” Harry said, with clear sincerity. “I do feel the judge wanted to make an example of you. To me your remorse was obvious. I mean, we’ve all partaken in… illegal substances…”

Zayn twitched as the vivid images flooded his mind; the squeal of tires, bloody streak along the road, a man screaming.

_How would you know? It’s not as though you attended any of the trial._

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Harry correctly identified the emotion flashing across Zayn’s face to be anger. “Rather silly of me really.”

“You enjoy being silly, huh?” Frankie said, knocking his shoulder against Harry’s, Zayn suspected, in a deliberate motion.

“I haven’t been in the mood to be silly for a long time now…” Harry said, folding his fingers within each other.

“So, what happened to you?” Zayn asked. “How did you end up out here?”

Harry swallowed. “I was in New York… making a film there… until production shut down and I couldn’t leave. Everyone I love… gone…I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it…”

“Was it bad in New York?” Zayn asked.

Harry’s long dark eyelashes flittered down as he nodded. The cackle of the flame provided a soothing balm for the mild uncomfortable silence that then fell over the group.

“How did you get out? What’s your story?” Harry asked.

“I suspect we’re the only ones who survived out of the entire damned prison,” Zayn said. “It’s so strange. We were all part of the same group.”

“You’re all friends?” Harry asked. “That’s incredible!”

“To be honest, we weren’t sure about Zayn at first. Because he’s damned crazy,” Brutal admitted. “First thing he did when he got into prison was smack Crazy Karl on the back of the head, fracturing his skull.”

“I heard about that. It was in the news. Zayn, that I can’t condone…. Why did you do that?” Harry asked.

“I can answer for him. He wanted to show he wasn’t going to be anyone’s bitch,” Frankie spoke up. “Ironic… considering…”

“Considering what?” Harry prompted.

“Then he gets out of solitary, three years added to his sentence and punches another guy in the back of the head in the library, then… now gets this, sticks a pencil up his ass!” Brutal laughed.

Harry frowned down at his gun, still cradled in Clint’s hands. “Zayn… people have died from being hit in the back of the head. Don’t you know about one punch deaths? You could have killed someone!”

All of the good will towards his ex-band-mate (ex-friend) plunged its icy fingers into Zayn’s abdomen and squeezed his intestines.

“Fuck you, Harry,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “Not all of us have had everything continually handed to them.”

“You just admitted you deliberately cracked the skull of another human being!”

“Sorry to derive you of any illusions you hold towards your dear Zayn but he’s done more than that,” Frankie said, giggling.

Zayn had initially rebuffed Clint’s offer to join their group. He was aware of their proclivities and, though Clint had assured him he was to join them as their equal, not as their subordinate, he had no desire to indulge in their…brutalities.

However, a need for self-protection from the other gangs who were now out to harm him won him over to them. Initially, the group owned two slaves; both nineteen and terrified. Zayn was offered a blow job from one as reward for entering the group, but had refrained. As the slaves were abused by the members, he continued to refrain. However, he didn’t help the obviously traumatised men, either.

After one of the slaves was paroled, the group picked up another one. This man was older, around Zayn’s age. The first night, he fought back so hard he ended up in the infirmary. When he came out, his first action was to come up to Zayn in the cafeteria and punch him in the face, splitting his lip open. Zayn was instantly aware of two things. Firstly, it hurt to be punched in the face. Second, he’d been targeted by this man because he had been analysed to be the weakest link.

Zayn was aware that the only reason why he didn’t end up as one of the group’s sexual conquests was the harsh beating he gave the other brutal prisoners, leading the group to see him as an equal.

He was in no way a _weak link._

Hence, when they indulged in their unwanted intimacies with the man that night, tying him down to the bunk and wrapping a sheet around his neck before stripping him of his clothes, Zayn joined in.

And, to his combined horror and intrigue, his sadistic brain enjoyed the sexual brutality.

“What does that mean?” Harry asked now.

“It means none of your business,” Zayn spat back at him.

Frankie laughed. “Alright, so tell us in detail about the times you two fucked.”

“Fucked? Bit difficult with Zayn being prison, huh?” Harry was obvious in his attempt to bring levity into the tense situation.

“You haven’t asked us why we were in prison to begin with,” Clint said, to Harry. “For me, murder. I stabbed my bitch ex-wife fifty times. Made sure that bitch was dead.”

The visible heaving of Harry’s chest drew Zayn’s attention towards him.

_Damn, Harry, shouldn’t have given Clint the gun._

“I killed a rival drug dealer,” Frankie shrugged. “Thirty years for that little bitch.”

“Home invasion, killed the parents, took the two eighteen-year-old twins, fucked them both. Girl and boy. Fucked them both,” Brutal said.

Harry’s shuttering breath increased, his loud panting drumming Zayn’s eardrums. He turned and stared at Zayn pointedly, his expression easily interpreted.

_Why are you with these men?_

Zayn clamped down on the ensuing rage that permeated his system by clenching his fists and holding Harry’s gaze.

_Fuck you, Harry. While you were fucking supermodels and creating hit records, I was defending myself from being raped or even worse._

Harry was the first to break eye contact.

“I’m going to…I need to go for a walk…”

“Hey, it’s okay…” Harry flinched as Clint draped an arm around his shoulder, trailing the gun up and down his thigh. “We’re just being friendly.”

“Zayn…” Harry said, with a plead that zapped straight to his groin. It was wrong. He knew it was wrong. What was coming next.

He deserves it, he told himself. He’s little bitch. He deserves it.

_Always the golden child, even when we were in the band. None of us were barely noticed. It was always Harry Harry._

“Tell us about the last guy who fucked you,” Clint asked.

Harry shook him off and stood up. “I’ll go for a walk...”

Clint sighed and held the gun up towards him. “Shouldn’t have given me the weapon.”

Brutal and Frankie took out their own guns they had claimed from the dead motorcycle gang members.

“What do you want with me?” A slight tremor in Harry’s tone betrayed his anxiety.

“Do you really think we care about you, with billions of people dead right now? We could have shot you in the head for the warmth of your fire. Now strip,” Clint ordered.

“Excuse me?” Harry’s brow furrowed, irises glittering, chest still heaving.

Clint cocked the weapon. “I’m not going to ask twice.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“Brutal, shoot him in the leg. If we have to fuck him while he’s bleeding out, so be it.”

“Wait wait, I’ll do it, I’ll do it,” Harry said, unzipping his puffer jacket and throwing it down.

Zayn was impressed with how easy it was. Harry didn’t cry, as he revealed his naked body, dropping items of clothing on the dirt forest floor, didn’t swear or berate them, merely kept his gaze down at the ground, the olive flesh of his face growing first pink, then red, before moving to purple.

“That’s it, pretty,” Clint cooed.

He kicked off his underwear and covered his genitalia. Zayn suspected the shivering was not due to the cold.

“Nice…” Brutal said, as Frank whistled beside him.

When they were touring, Zayn had noted that Harry’s physique equalled the attractiveness of his face. In the ten years passed, his boyish looks had evolved to a manly physique, the babyface defining to handsome features. As he grew older, Harry was becoming even more impossibly beautiful. It was a shame he would have to share him with the others, now.

Clint took off his own coat and lay it before the fire. “Now come over here and kneel down.”

Harry hesitated, but, at the raise of the weapon, did as insisted.

“Okay,” Clint said, unzipping his pants. “No teeth or we shoot you, understand?”

Zayn had seen it all before. Though the others laughed and hollered, he rarely interacted himself, preferring to not engage with any group activities. However, this time he watched with interest. For the first time, this was someone he knew, had even masturbated to the thought of. In retrospect, watching Harry struggle and choke, as his head was pushed down, Clint’s hands gripping the dark curls of his hair, should have been the first signal he was one sick fuck. Clint grunted, and pushed him away. Harry fell to the ground, hands covering his face.

“Not yet… not yet… someone else…”

Frankie stood in front of Harry, fishing out his own erection, which veered to the left, and hauled him back up.

Watching the man he had once been as brothers with forcibly slamming his head up and down another man’s erection with a gun pointed at his head, Zayn recalled the fantasy that had led to his own stunning climax; Harry appearing at his apartment long after both had started solo careers, Zayn dragging him in and biting his lips, his neck, his shoulders.

Frankie groaned, his victim spluttering, as he pulled away, semen dripping from his lips, as he continued to cough.

“Can’t fucking hold it in, can you?” Brutal said, laughing, as he took out his own erection and shoved Harry’s head down onto it.

“Fuck you, I’ve still got more,” Frankie said.

In Zayn’s fantasies, the harder he thrust into Harry, the more he begged for more.

Yes, he was fucked up and wrong and was certainly going to hell if there was one.

“What are we going to use? I’m not fucking this one dry,” Clint said, as Harry groaned.

Brutal pushed his victim aside. “I should have olive oil in my bag.”

“Olive oil…” Clint smiled and shook his head, as Zayn stood in front of Harry.

“Zayn, please don’t do this…” Harry pleaded.

_Too late, Harry. Too fucking late._

Zayn fished out his own erection, and pushed Harry’s head down onto it, relishing in the warm mouth enclosing over his turgid flesh. Yes, he was going to hell. Best to have fun, before the scorching flames torched his flesh.

Brutal arrived back from where he’d parked his motorcycle bearing a jar of olive oil.

“What other supplies do you have in there?” Frankie asked.

“Olive oil has a fair amount of uses. Look, as the resident cook…”

“Shut up and hold him down,” Clint said, as Zayn pulled back, tucking his still aching erection back into his prison pants.

This time, Harry did struggle, managed to get up. A cocked gun to the back of his head ceased all movements. Zayn didn’t help, but didn’t stop the other three forcing his ex-friend down onto his stomach on Clint’s coat.

“Oh god, please don’t… please…” Harry moaned, as Clint poured the olive oil over his fingers before prodding the digits into his victim's backside.

“Zayn please… help me…”

Zayn swallowed what little spittle now remained in his mouth.

_I’m sorry, Harry. I don’t have a choice._

Harry broke down into pathetic sobs, as Clint slathered his erection with more olive oil and covered Harry with his own body.

“Yeah, fuck the pretty boy!” Brutal ordered. “Pound his fuckhole.”

And so Clint did, his pimply ass moving up and down, up and down, as beneath him, his victim shrieked, the high pitched noise rising the hairs on Zayn’s arms. Zayn watched it all. Watched as Clint grunted, biting hard into Harry’s shoulder as he shuddered his climax. Watched as he was replaced by Frankie (“No no please stop… please…” Harry said), who gave a running monologue throughout the rape.

“Yeah, you want it bitch you want my dick in your fuckhole, yeah take it take it…”

Watched as Frankie screamed his orgasm to the dark sky and withdrew, to be instantly replaced by Brutal, who brought his victim’s hips up, to meet his erection, Harry’s face red, mouth contorted with agony, as he was breached a third time. Though Harry was taller than both Brutal and Frankie, to Zayn, his slender physique appeared tiny compared to the wall of muscle and fat slamming on top of it.

A part of Zayn, a part from before he was deadened by the squeal of tires and the crumpled, blooded figure lying on the road (and a name, David Wallace….of no fixed abode), longed to scream to them to stop. Harry didn’t deserve this cruelty; the one who spoke of love over hatred, who waved rainbow flags at concerts and was always there for everyone, even those who didn’t deserve it ( _“I’m here for you, mate. You know I love you like a brother.”)_

No, it was too late. Zayn told himself that part of himself could never return. He could never return to the man he once was.

By the time Zayn lay on top of Harry’s sweaty, shivering back, he’d stopped screaming and moaning, stopped making any sounds at all. Zayn was impressed at how easy it was to slip inside, the way eased by the olive oil (blood) and semen of the other men. Despite the smooth ride, it wasn’t enough. He reached under to tweak Harry’s nipples, to no effect, he bit hard into his shoulder, licked down his sweaty neck. No response. Finally, he reached around, to his lax penis, giving it a jerk. Harry jerked.

“No, please don’t… please don’t…”

This was enough to send Zayn over, jerking him to a half-erection, as he cried out in blissful orgasm inside the slick heat of his victim.

“Damn… damn…” He said, collapsing on the shuddering man beneath him.

As soon as he pulled out, Harry rolled onto his side, curled up into a ball and once more placed his head in his hands.

“What a night!” Brutal said, patting Zayn on his shoulder, as he zipped up his jeans, still lightheaded from his intense orgasm. “I could sleep for a hundred years.”

“We should try sleep,” Clint said.

Zayn glanced down at Harry, guilt piercing his stomach at the sight of the trembling man, who had not moved from his curled-up position. Now the thrill of the act was over, his mind cleared to shock at his participation, as it’s habit in the prison. Kneeling by Harry, and ignoring the murmurs of the other’s around as they organised bedding for the night, he reached out to touch his tattoed shoulder, for him to jerk away.

I’m sorry… rose to the forefront of his mind but was swiftly vanished. What had been done, he couldn’t erase. Instead, he fumbled for Harry’s clothes, locating his briefs, jeans, shirt and jumper in a heap where he’d left them in the mud.

“Here,” he said, nudging Harry again and was subjected to another flinch. “Your clothes.”

He endeavoured to not allow his vision to slide down the slender torso, to the bruises peppering the pale flesh, the semen seeping down his thighs, the thin line of blood.

“Come on, you’ll freeze.”

“If he wants to stay naked, I’m not going to complain,” Frankie said.

Harry rolled back over and, green eyes still darting from anywhere but Zayn’s dark brown, snatched the clothes from his hands.

“Alright,” Clint said. “You me and pretty boy here will sleep in the tent. The other two can stay by the fire.”

Harry was able to pull his underwear and jeans up, doing up the fly but failed to connect the correct buttons up on his shirt with the correct button holes (velvet, dark red. Of course, complemented Harry’s svelte figure. Very Harry). Zayn reached to help, only for Harry to recoil away so violently he fell down. Biting his bottom lip, Zayn handed him his jumper and puffer jacket.

“We can use our coats as blankets,” Clint went on to say. Allow prissy here his comforts. There’s a pillow and sleeping bag in the tent.”

Upon nestling down in the tent beside Harry, with Clint on the other side, Zayn threw his own coat on top of himself, staring at Harry’s still trembling back, resisting the urge to touch him. It was ridiculous, he told himself. He had just been inside this man ( _friend, he had been a friend_ ) and yet now was shy to reach out to him. Steeling his oddly frayed nerves, he touched the shoulder peeking out of the sleeping bag, only for Harry to jolt and or Zayn to swiftly pull back.

It suddenly occurred to him that the reason why Harry was quick to trust the men with Zayn was precisely because they were with him, one Harry had once labelled a friend.

A dagger ripped through his stomach at the thought and he curled up behind Harry, wrapping an arm around his trembling waist.

“It’s okay,” he breathed into Harry’s ear. “It’s okay.”

A sudden image appeared in his mind, from ten years before, just him and Harry together, sharing a joint and laughing. A simple memory from an uncomplicated time.

Zayn rubbed his stomach, in an attempt to cease the trembling flesh. In response, Harry whimpered.

“It’s okay,” Zayn kissed the back of his sweaty neck, mindful of the bruises already forming from where teeth had tug in earlier. An apology urged to form in his larynx, mouth and teeth. However, he forced the compulsion away.

What was done was done. Too much had occurred between them now, to be fixed with just two words.

*

They had slowed down the motorcycles around a particularly morbid smash, in which one of the passengers was flung across the front bonnet to a particular gruesome bloody death, when Harry made a break for it. Though Clint had warned him in the morning not to “try anything” or face their deadly wrath, no one considered the silent, wraith-like man to be of any threat. Harry had not spoken a single word since the attack the night before, and had complied to their demands without struggle, though his movements were slow and laboured.

The actions were so swift, Zayn was not certain what was happening. Like the others, he had slowed his motorcycle down to five kilometres an hour as he approached the pile up, when Clint gave out a startled yelp, and Frankie screamed “That little son of a bitch!”

The red of Frankie’s prison uniform flashed past him and Zayn slowed his motorcycle to a stop, to view Frankie sprinting. The empty spot behind Clint placed the jigsaw pieces to a whole. Harry, who had been riding with Clint, had used the opportunity of the motorcycle slowing down, to jump off the back.

With his own heart slamming against his ribcage, Zayn jumped off his own motorcycle and gave chase behind Frankie, spying Harry sprinting ahead. Frankie was gaining ground.

“Harry! Stop!” Zayn ordered. Behind him, Brutal and Clint’s raggard breath sounded in his ears.

Frankie reached his prey and pulled them both to the ground.

_Oh god don’t let them hurt him, don’t let them hurt him._

Certainly, Zayn understood rape’s own particular form of violence. However, Clint, in particular, tended to punish ‘bitches’ who failed to follow the rules. One in particular, in the prison, was lucky to have survived the subsequent beating given.

“Frankie!” Zayn shouted.

Ahead of him, Harry lay on his back, his legs thrashing, with Frankie sitting on his chest.

Zayn’s heart stuttered.

Choking sounds arose from Harry’s mouth.

Completing the distance between them, Zayn pulled at the hands wrapped around Harry’s throat.

“You’ll kill him! Get off him!” He shouted.

Harry had turned bright purple in the face. Saliva dripping down from Frankie’s mouth landing on his face.

“Get off him!”

“God damn it, Frankie stop it!” Clint ordered.

“Fucking bitch!” Frankie released Harry’s throat and, as his victim coughed and breathed in life satiating air, grabbed at his jeans and underwear and tugged.

This time, there was no lube used. Frankie stripped his victim of his jeans and underwear, flung his legs over his head, and, holding him down with his own weight, took him with such violence Harry’s entire teeth displayed in a grimace, his hoarse cries punctuated with each vicious thrust. Zayn suspected the only relief for his victim was that it was over relatively quickly. Frankie flung his head back, groaned loudly and then collapsed on top of the still sobbing Harry.

However, his relief was short lived, as Clint took Frankie’s place. It took less than a minute of hard rutting and taunting, as Harry cried out beneath him for Clint to scream out his climax.

“Yeah yeah take my come deep inside you, bitch!”

Brutal, perhaps in sympathy for their victim, who now bore bruises in the shape of fingerprints to his hips, and was bleeding both from a deep bite mark to his neck, as well as between his thighs, forced him up to his knees and plundered his mouth, instead.

After Brutal grunted his completion, Zayn was aware it was his turn. Stepping in front of the shaking, bleeding and bruised still coughing Harry, he found he couldn’t bring himself to take him either way.

You’re sick you’re sick you’re sick, he told himself, jerking his now painful erection.

Although a part of himself revolted at the sight of the absurdly pretty man being humiliated and violated, another part, a part that disgusted him, was titillated.

Gripping Harry’s soft curls, and ignoring the laughter and jeers of the men around him, he frowned at Harry’s scrunched up closed eyelids.

“Open those lovely green eyes,” he ordered.

The eyelids opened, eyes drifting off to the left, to a spot in his periphery, tears streaming down the delicate cheeks. Zayn groaned, his come spraying across Harry’s left cheek, down his jaw, onto his bruised neck.

Frankie and Brutal roared with laughter and Brutal patted him on the back.

“Good one!”

You really are sick, he told himself, as he zipped himself back up.

“Should we kill this bitch?” Brutal said, raising his gun, as Harry cringed, raising a hand up to protect his face.

“No, wait-“ Zayn said, heart pounding.

“He needs discipline,” Clint said. “Don’t bother with the jeans” he ordered Zayn, who had walked over to pick up the discarded jeans and briefs, stomach clenching at the smear of blood on the back of the underwear, that had come through onto the jeans, the blood and come sliding down Harry’s trembling thighs. “We’re going to have to tie his hands around me, so this bitch doesn’t move.”

*

The motorcycles rolled in at dusk. The noise was so unfamiliar Louis initially couldn’t believe it was actual proof of other humans. Dropping the cards in his hand (he was sure to win with a straight flush) onto the table, he and the others rushed down the stairs and into the chemist’s storefront, to stand at the window, looking out.

As though by design, the motorcycles stopped directly before the shop, above which they’d been holed up for the past week. He counted four motorcycles, with five men, one sat behind one other. Though these were the first living humans they had seen in over a week, he noted none of the other two moved to go out and greet them.

“Something’s wrong here,” Niall said. Louis agreed, thankful that in the dim light, they could gaze out the storefront but the interlopers couldn’t see in.

Before them, through the window, two of the men clambered off their motorcycles and looked around. Another went to the other two.

“They’re wearing prison outfits!” Niall exclaimed.

“What are they doing?” Liam asked. “Oh… shit…Why is that one in his underwear?”

The one wearing merely a jumper shirt and briefs had clambered off the motorcycle and stood, side on to the window, his hands before him, bare legs shivering.

“He looks so familiar…” Niall said.

The one wearing no trousers now turned to face the window. Louis gasped, and Liam swore.

“What is it? Oh fuck! It’s Harry!” Niall said.

Louis didn’t reply, couldn’t create any sound to display his utter shock at the one standing bruised and shivering, with his hands tied before him and blood splashing his exposed inner thighs.

As though to confirm his suspicions, another of the men slung his arm around Harry’s shoulders and nuzzled his neck, as Harry's face scrunched up in an obvious cringe.

Harry had told Louis he had no symptoms, merely hours before the technology short circuited. They were, in fact, on the way to try and find Harry, from his last known residence in New York.

“I don’t understand what’s happening here,” Louis said as, before them, the man led Harry away from the window. “Why is Harry being held by these men?”

“Come on, Lou. Don’t be daft,” Liam said. “Think about it. Here, we can have anything we want. We want a big house, jewels, we can take it. Who’s going to stop us? There’s only one reason why Harry’s the only one tied up here and being kept by them.”

Louis’s eyes widened. “You think they’re….?”

“He was missing half of his clothes,” Liam said. “Beyond that, I noticed clear signs of,” he swallowed. “Sexual abuse.”

“Those sons of bitches!” Louis said.

“They’re escaping from prison, come across Harry,” Liam said. “He’s vulnerable, he’s good looking. They obviously wanted to take advantage.”

“Well not anymore, we need to do something about this,” Louis said. “I say we go in there and-“

“And what?” Niall said. “Didn’t you notice the big rifles slung over their shoulders?”

Louis turned back to the window. Across the road, Harry was being manhandled into the front door of the Hyatt hotel.

“If we all go in there we all we’ll be killed,” Niall said. “Quite possibly raped as well. No, we need to be smart with this. What if one of us goes in, pretends to be a sole survivor. Tries to befriend them.

“No, not you,” Liam said. “And not you either,” he gestured to Louis. “Son of a bitch. It’s going to have to be me, isn’t it? I volunteer. I’ll say I’ve spent time in prison, that I… concur with their tastes.”

“You really think they’re going to believe you?” Niall asked. “Especially if they recognise you, which is a fair chance, if they recognised Harry?”

The three were so focused on Harry they failed to recognise the fifth member of their old group, who was now walking onto the building opposite, with his violated, trembling ex band member behind him.

Tbc…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who commented and sent kudos!  
> I appreciate every bit of positive feedback this work is getting.  
> Onto the next...

Liam stood in front of the Hyatt hotel, his lips pressed tight together.

This was a stupid idea. He was probably going to die.

_Why did I volunteer to just walk up to men with guns?_

A memory emerged in his brain, from when he’d last seen Harry; three months before, at Heathrow airport. Harry had hugged him, slung his bag over his shoulder and said “Yes, definitely. After I’ve finished filming in New York. Road trip up the West coast. Can’t wait to show you Sequoia National Park. It’s so beautiful just being in nature, don’t you think?” before favouring him with his dimpled smile and waving goodbye. In a portent of the horror to come, behind Harry, at the British Airline ticket counter, a man launched into a paroxysm of coughs.

Of course, the road trip didn’t eventuate, nor did the planned followed secret recording of a new album from the members of One Direction bar Zayn.

_Instead, we were stuck in California and Harry was stuck in New York while the world died._

_Yes, and now Harry’s here, with those men doing god knows what to him._

In all the time Liam had met him, he had never seen Harry lose his temper, or even raise his voice. His zen approach to life, combined with cheery hippy sentiment would have been aggravating, but for the complete ease Harry’s mere presence generated in those around him. Liam was at a loss as to why anyone would wish to harm one who exhibited such purity.

No, he couldn’t allow Harry to be subjected to these wicked men’s sick attentions.

Steeling himself, and with his heart pumping so fast it was sure to explode out of his chest wall, Liam stepped into the hotel foyer.

“Hello?” Liam shouted, moving passed the slouched corpse of the concierge ( _this man took his job way too seriously_ ) and the other hotel patrons lounging in foyer chairs, never to stand and walk to their rooms again. Continuing through the lobby, he followed the sound of voices to a wide dining room of white clothed tables with red velvet cushioned chairs still bearing the corpses of patrons who would never receive their final meal.

As he stepped onto the varnished floorboards separating the room from the carpeted foyer, the two men standing chatting in the centre spun around. Liam stopped mid-step; his left foot raised.

Yes, there was no denying the one before him. Even though he hadn’t seen him in two years ( _not since the accident… manslaughter charge….)_ Liam could not afford to be in denial.

Zayn’s visage held the same open mouthed shocked expression as himself.

_But, how? What are the chances?_

“Zayn? What the hell are you doing here?” Liam said, as the muscular man beside Zayn rapidly blinked.

A door clanged open in the room beyond and Liam glimpsed an industrial lit oven with a massive pot on one of the stovetops, before an obese man came running through.

“Liam? Liam!” Zayn stepped forward, engulfing the still stunned Liam in his arms. “What the-? How are you here?”

“You two know each other?” The muscular man asked, as the obese man now caught up to stand beside him.

“Oh, yes we were in a band together…” Zayn shook his head. “The chances…”

As he spoke, Liam searched his body for any visible signs of abuse. He wore the same red prison outfit of the others but at least appeared uninjured.

_Where the hell is Harry?_

“I’m Liam,” Liam held his hand out to the two other men, who introduced themselves as Brutal and Frankie.

“You… obviously came from prison. I’ve been here for three days, waiting for anyone to rock up…” Liam said.

“Liam… you’re not going to believe this but… I’m not the only one from the band with us. We ran into Harry. Harry’s with us,” Zayn said.

“Harry?” Liam feigned surprise. “That’s crazy!”

“The chances are… astronomical…”

“So, you’re… by yourself?” Frankie stepped forward, cold dark irises travelling up and down Liam’s body and trailing slime in their wake.

Liam closed his hands over each other, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his torso, in a defensive gesture.

_Ok think…_

“Must have been terrible in prison with all of this going on… I can’t even imagine. I remember when I spent time in prison…” Liam said.

“When were you in prison?” Zayn asked, brows furrowed.

The correct answer was ‘never’ but Liam was forced to be clever.

“A few years back on drug charges,” Liam lied.

Lines now formed in the centre of Zayn’s forehead in clear confusion, however he allowed Liam to continue.

“Pretty boy like you wouldn’t have done well in prison…” Frankie said, while Brutal laughed and returned to the adjoining kitchen.

“Oh, but it was fun… screwing with the prison guards, screwing with the other prisoners…It’s all about who to manipulate. There were other more scared younger prisoners who did far worse than me, believe me.”

“Is a pre-requisite of the group of yours that you’re all fucking crazy?” Frankie asked, smiling.

“I heard about you assaulting another prisoner,” Liam admitted to Zayn.

“Worked, didn’t it? No one fucked with him after that, no one dared. Although he had fun fucking with others…” Frankie said.

“Fair enough. I adopted a similar motto while in prison,” Liam lied. “Try mess with me and see who comes out the worse.”

“Yep, you two are nuts,” Frankie said.

“So, where’s Harry?” Liam asked.

As if in response, footsteps sounded up the corridor, this time from the west, as opposed to the east where Liam had come in from.

“Alright people, so we’ve found two adjoining rooms-“ A deep voice sounded, as two men stepped into the room.

Harry stumbled into the room first, causing Liam to swallow bile that rose up his oesophagus at the unpleasant sight. The usual confident charm that permeated Harry’s very being had vanished, to be replaced by a bent necked, trembling shell of a human being. He still was sans trousers or jeans, exposed thighs dotted with purple bruises, the blood smeared on his inner thighs a testament to the repulsion of what he had suffered. His body language, always so open and welcoming, was closed, shoulders curled in, quivering hands tied by a belt before him.

“Who the fuck are you?” The man who walked in behind Harry, and now had an arm slung around his quivering shoulders, asked.

“This is Liam. He was in the town and, get this, he knows Zayn!” Frankie said.

At the mention of Liam’s name Harry’s head shot up, green eyes widening.

Upon viewing Harry’s clear distress, Liam considered his options. The first instinct- which he was certain would not be correct- was to grab Harry and try and run with him, away from the monsters who had hurt him (could Zayn have been involved? No, Liam refused to entertain that disturbing notion). Liam glanced at the other men, at the weapons they had slung around their backs, including Zayn. These men would have no compunction in killing him, even for the mere amusement of it.

Inwardly inhaling, Liam forced his lips to upcurl.

“Finally put this annoying cunt in his place, have you?” He asked.

_I’m so sorry, Harry._

Harry’s green irises flashed with clear hurt and he downcast his head once more.

_So sorry._

“I thought you liked Harry!” Zayn said.

“Like I said… easy to manipulate the public…” Liam shrugged. “Truth is, I can’t stand the snivelling whiney cunt. Been having fun with him, have we?”

“This guy’s scaring me and that’s saying something…” Frankie said.

_Good, that’s the idea._

“Were you exploring the rooms?” He asked the other man, who had now thankfully taken his arm off Harry’s shoulders. “You didn’t go to the rooms on the west side did you, on the ground floor?”

Liam had come up with an idea as to how to separate Harry from the others on the way there. It was a long shot, but he had to at least try.

“That’s exactly where we went, how did you know?” The man said. “I’m Clint by the way.”

“You didn’t smell anything off? How long were you in there for?”

Clint smirked. “Probably about half an hour… Plenty of time to test the showers, which are warm, folks and…. Christen the bed.”

His tongue darted out, to swipe up Harry’s neck, as the other man jolted, and took a sharp intake of breath.

Liam dug his fingernails into his palms so hard they dug into the flesh, to cease them from going around this sick _rapist’s_ neck.

_Who else has hurt Harry?_

Liam recognised Frankie as the one who had nuzzled Harry’s throat upon exiting the motorcycle outside.

_So that’s at least two of them who are abusing him. I don’t see why the one from the kitchen, Brutal, wouldn’t join in, either._

Gorge rose in his clenched stomach, threatening to spew out of his mouth, forcing him to repeatedly swallow.

_Focus on getting Harry out of here._

“I smelt it when I went to explore here a few days ago,” Liam lied. “Cyanide. Most people can’t smell it. Happens when old gas escapes from broken down furnaces and heaters. Don’t whatever you do sleep in those rooms. You won’t wake up.”

The other men (but for Harry, who continued to gaze at his bare feet) now shared identical expressions of alarm.

“Cyanide?” Zayn asked.

“Look, there are other rooms. I can show you ones that don’t have the smell of gas in them.”

“I’m tapped out,” Clint said. “Sure, someone else can go.”

“I’ll go,” Zayn said. “Give us a chance to catch up. Like old times.”

Liam blinked at his good fortune. He had not figured Zayn into his plans, when coming up with the lie about the cyanide gas. His idea was to get into their good graces by warning about the cyanide gas- fortuitous that Harry and Clint had been looking together for rooms to sleep in- and then attempt to get Harry alone, at one point, even if it meant persuading them he wanted fifteen minutes alone with Harry in return for the ‘favour’ of the warning about the cyanide gas.

“I’ll go too. I want another taste of prissy here,” Frankie smacked Harry’s ass, who stumbled forward, almost falling, before righting himself.

“He’s fucking staying. Dinner will be very soon,” Brutal re-emerged from the kitchen. “I need someone to help.”

“It won’t take long,” Liam said. “I’ll just show the rooms and you can see if it’s to your liking.”

“Let’s go,” Zayn said.

“Harry too...” Liam grabbed him by his arm and pulled him along.

“No, pretty boy stays,” Brutal demanded. “I deserve a little… fun after the hard work of cooking dinner.”

“Let them go,” Clint said. “They can have their little reconciliation. You can fuck the pretty boy after. Won’t take long.”

Liam deliberately took a deep breath, as Harry’s own flustered breathing increased beside him.

_Sick assholes. Okay, calm yourself. Calm. Just get Harry away from them._

“Absolutely,” Liam said. “I just wanna show the rooms. See if they’re suitable.”

_And thank you, Clint for playing into my plan._

_Sick rapist fuck._

*

Liam waited until they were three corridors away from the other men before talking to Zayn.

“Have they hurt you?”

Zayn shook his head. “No! But Harry… Liam, they…You were lying, right? When you said you were in prison?”

Liam bit his upper lip then nodded. “I needed to get on their side. And Harry…” He knelt before the still shaking man, as he tenderly undid the binds of his wrists ( _damn it, he’s bleeding there too!)._ “I didn’t mean a word I said before. I had to say it, to get them on my side. I love you, okay? You’re like a brother to me.”

Harry didn’t respond, his eyes focused on a spot in Liam’s left side. Inwardly sighing, Liam stood.

“Zayn, I need to ask…I don’t even know how to begin to…”

“I couldn’t stop them… I’m sorry Liam,” tears gathered in Zayn’s eyelids then crawled down his cheeks. “They… hurt Harry and I couldn’t… I wanted to but I was scared they would kill me…”

_God this whole thing is messed up._

Liam grabbed the distraught Zayn and pulled him into his arms.

A loud cry drew them apart, of such anguish and terror it raised the hair on Liam’s arms. Harry tore at his curls, the cry growing louder and louder.

“Harry!” As soon as Liam gently removed Harry’s hands from his hair, the screaming ceased and he froze, in unnerving fashion, as though Liam’s touch had flicked a switch to turn off the electric force of Harry’s terror. “Harry, it’s okay it’s okay…I’m going to get you out of here, okay? You’re safe with me.”

Harry’s head slumped forward.

“We’re going to get you somewhere safe,” Liam continued. “Louis is also in the town. And Niall. We were on our way to New York to find you.”

“They’re both also here?” Zayn asked, in a small voice.

“We saw you all ride in. It was obvious Harry had been… abused…This is so messed up…” He shook his head. “We came up with a plan to get him out. And you.”

Harry screamed once more.

“It’s okay…” Liam touched his upper back in a gentle fashion but Harry still flinched violently away. “I’m going to get you out of here and make you safe. Both of you.”

*

The flight from the hotel was surprisingly easy. Liam led them out the exit and down the stairs to the back door, expecting at any moment to be pounced on by the other men. From there, they sprinted away from the hotel, Liam holding Harry’s trembling hand in his. They reached the church the group had decided to reconvene at for protection and pushed the heavy wooden double doors open. Niall and Louis rushed forward but then stopped, bearing identical expressions of shock.

“Zayn?” Louis asked.

“I came in with the other prisoners,” Zayn explained.

“Oh my god!” Niall pulled Zayn into a hug.

Liam continued to walk Harry through the centre aisle past the pews, still bearing the dead bodies of the folks seeking a religious pardon that would never come.

“It’s okay, Harry. There’s a shower in the room to the back. We’ll find you a change of clothes, okay?” Liam said.

“Harry?” Louis asked, with a tentative voice, as he paced alongside them.

Harry didn’t reply, his typically lively features reduced to an eerie vacant stare.

“Harry, it’s okay, you’re safe here with us.”

Harry remained silent.

Louis’ blue irises caught Liam’s, his expression easily interpreted.

_What do we do now?_

“Come on, Harry,” Liam said careful not to stand too close. “I bet you need a shower. Louis, can you find clothes for him? I don’t know how tall the priest was…”

In their search of the church upon entering the town, despite the patrons rotting in his domicile, the priest was nowhere to be found. The men had speculated he had run and left his patrons to die without absolution.

“Of course. I’ll try find something for him to wear,” Louis said.

A loud bang made all three jump. They turned, to Niall locking the church front doors.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Come on, Harry,” Liam said, moving him into the back room, beyond the pulpit, past the vestuary and into the priest’s living quarters. A small bathroom sat to the back of the quaint living quarters, consisting of antique furniture and distinct lack of any electrical paraphernalia.

“Man doesn’t even own a tv!” Niall had remarked, when they’d first explored the rooms.

Liam walked Harry in, closed the door behind them and turned on the tap, hoping and thankful for the warm water that dropped onto his fingers. “Okay… it’s warm.”

Harry didn’t respond, simply stood with bearing an atypical empty stare. “Come on, Harry… you’ll feel better after a shower, I’m sure…”

Visibly swallowing, Harry undid the buttons of his shirt and shrugged it off, before removing his boxers. Upon viewing the decimation of his body, the multiple bruises, scratches, and bitemarks visible over his tattoos combined with the tell-tale blood and… ( _is that also…? I feel sick_ ) soaking his inner thighs, Liam gasped, his intestines coiling around each other in a painful motion.

_Those sick sick cunts…_

“Harry…” He reached for the man, who stepped back so swiftly he collided with the bathroom door.

“Okay, okay…” He placed his hand up in surrender. “We’re not going to hurt you, Harry. It’s okay. Get into the shower.”

With his abdomen still spasming in painful motions, he walked out of the room, closing the door behind himself.

_Damn… Harry…_

Before him, Zayn and Louis were going through the cupboards in the priest’s oak French provincial designed wardrobe.

“Do you think he should be alone?” Niall asked.

“I think that’s what he wants right now,” Liam said.

“How is he?” Niall asked.

Louis, bearing a woollen jumper and track pants Harry would not, in his usual life, ever wear, now drilled his blue eyes into Liam’s.

“Pretty damned terrible, those cunts,” Liam said.

Louis nodded and walked past Liam.

“Harry…” He said, his voice gentle, as he knocked on the bathroom door. “I’ve got clothes for you, okay? I’m going to put them just inside the door.”

“What the hell happened to him?” Liam whispered to Zayn, who shook his head.

“I’m sorry…” Zayn said. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Niall said. “I’m sure you did what you could to protect Harry… as much as you could, anyway.”

Zayn shakily came over to a nearby couch and sat. Louis pulled out a chair by a table by the window and sat down. Niall planted himself on the other side. Liam remained standing by the closed blinds of the window, with his arms folded.

“I was with a gang in the prison who…we were the only survivors. After everything shorted out, we were able to make our escape. We had been hiding in the kitchen. It was pretty easy. The prison officers were coming in less and less. Anyway, we stole a guard’s pass and keys and walked out. We came upon Harry a few kilometres out. He’d made a fire…” Zayn trailed off.

Light footsteps signalled Harry walking back into the room, wearing the pants and jumper given from Louis, his eyelashes still fluttered down.

“Harry…” Louis said. “Come sit next to me.”

Harry stood, indecisive a moment, before he made his way to the empty chair beside his best friend. The other men watched as he sat on the edge of the chair’s varnished oak arm, his ginger movements, and the grimace of his delicate features, proof of a deeper physical ache.

“Can I make a proposal?” Louis asked. “Can I propose we take Zayn’s weapon there and use it on the men who did this,” he waved his hands up and down Harry, “to the sweetest, most genuine, most caring man that I know.”

“No, don’t go back to them. They’re dangerous. Harry and I are lucky we were able to get out with our lives,” Zayn said. “Harry tried to escape and they…One of them tried to strangle him.”

Liam had noted the bruises around Harry’s neck but had not wanted to consider how much they resembled finger prints. Harry’s trembling increased and his face scrunched up, as he bit his lip, tears spilling down his face. The other men expressed identical noises of outrage.

“Again, I want to kill the bastards!” Louis said.

“They’ll kill you. Seriously, they don’t care,” Zayn said.

Harry angled himself away from them, burying his face in his hands.

“Harry…” Louis moved his hand, as though to touch him, but then placed it back in his lap, his anguish clear in the creases of his face.

“So, what’s your story?” Zayn asked, after a long, uncomfortable silence.

“We were coming back to New York to find Harry,” Niall said. “We saw him come in with the rest of the group. We had been staying at the pharmacy across the road.”

“Why there?” Zayn asked.

“We’d been exploring the town. There was no one in the rooms above. But they were comfortable,” Liam explained. “Also, they were well stocked with food.”

“Also, had three bedrooms so that worked for us,” Niall said.

“We decided….” Liam’s eyes flicked to Harry, who had ceased covering his face and was now sitting so still and as a ghost in the seat beside Louis, his hands primly folded within the other. “We noticed Harry straight away. Noticed he’d been…hurt…. We made a plan to rescue him. I’m sorry, Zayn, we were so focused on Harry we didn’t even notice you. Anyway, the plan was to rescue Harry and bring him here to the church. We figured if the others try and follow, there will be more chances for us to escape.”

“If need be, we can go down into the catacombs to hide,” Niall explained.

“How long do we plan to stay here, though?” Louis said, frowning at Harry.

“I’d say at least a couple of days. Make sure those assholes have left,” Liam said.

Zayn’s nose crinkled. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, I had no choice, I had no…”

“What’s done is done,” Liam said, definitively. “Maybe we should see if Father Loughlin had anything in his fridge to eat.”

*

Dinner was a sombre affair of tinned vegetables cooked on the thankfully still working gas stove, mixed with pasta in minimal dim candlelight. None of the group spoke much. Harry remained silent.

After dinner, a group decision was made to try sleep. It had been a long, trying day. Bedding consisted of a double bed, couch and sleeping bag found in the cupboard. With their thoughts not straying from the men they had rescued Harry (and Zayn) from, the group made up a roster for keeping vigil, with Zayn’s gun (despite all four-bar Harry- admitting they’d never even touched a weapon before). Niall volunteered to go first, leaving Liam and Louis to take the bed, after Zayn volunteered for the sleeping bag on the ground. Though Harry still remained mute, the others told him to take the couch, with the consideration he would not want to sleep in the same bed as another man.

Liam volunteered last vigil, closing his eyelids and finding sleep difficult; as much as he attempted to empty his mind, it refused to succumb. After turning, and turning again, he opened his eyes, to Niall sitting by the table, with a book in hand.

Closing his eyes once more, his brain crossed over into dreamland in gradual increments. His thoughts disintegrated to the whimsy of the incoherent images and noises of his dreams.

Consciousness returned, the chilly night air causing him to pull the blanket up over his shoulders, as he stretched out. The bed now had more space. Whimpering drew his concentration to the coach opposite.

“Harry… Harry it’s okay!” Louis knelt side on to Liam.

A piteous scream tore from Harry’s larynx and he sat up, chest heaving, eyes and mouth wide.

“Harry it’s okay, it’s me. It’s Louis. You’re safe…”

Harry shook his head.

_Oh Harry…_

“Yes, you’re okay. You’re okay. Can I… can I take your hand?”

Liam sat up straighter, as Harry reached his hand out and Louis clasped their hands together.

_Oh… oh wow…._

“I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry…” Louis voice broke.

Watching the two together, Liam recalled their closeness, particularly during their One Direction days. While fans conjectured, they were a couple, Liam saw no direct evidence of them being in a sexual or romantic relationship. However, that didn’t mean neither Harry nor Louis had not desired the other. Indeed, Liam had noticed many a sly glance from one to the other over the years, many an intimate moment that, given one step further, would move them beyond friendship.

“I’m so…” Louis lifted Harry’s hand and bought it to his mouth.”

Harry instantly snatched his hand away, brow furrowing, more, Liam suspected in irritated fashion over fearful.

“I’m sorry, that was wrong… I shouldn’t have…”

To Liam’s surprise, Harry reached his hand out once more, to grip Louis’s in his own. Despite his trauma, that Harry was able to reach out to his best friend was a soothing balm to Liam’s being.

“Sleep Harry, it’s okay. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you,” Louis said.

Harry lay back down and closed his eyes. After a minute of watching Louis sit with Harry, still clasping his hand, Liam did too.

The next time consciousness returned…

No, he was still sleeping, was having an odd dream.

Zayn sat by the couch in the exact position Louis had been in, cupping Harry’s chin in his hands, as he passionately kissed him on the mouth.

Yes, Liam had to be dreaming. He blinked. The image remained; Zayn liplocked with Harry, before pulling away, his hands still in his hair. Harry didn’t move, leading Liam to believe he was still asleep, had, indeed, been asleep as Zayn had pashed him. Liam was positive that, given Harry’s current trauma, he would not consent to being kissed without screaming.

_No, that makes no sense whatsoever. Why would Zayn kiss him? Especially after he’d been abused so horrifically._

_No, no I must have been dreaming._

Liam allowed his mind to devolve to slumber once more.

He awoke the final time to Zayn sit at the table, drumming his fingers on his thighs.

Liam shook his head, as though to shake loose the notion Zayn would be molesting Harry in his sleep, particularly as he was still unconvinced that Zayn hadn’t himself been molested, in a more subtle way than Harry had.

Yawning, he drew the covers back and moved to Zayn. The room was distinctly lighter now, grey over the inky black of night.

“It’s too early,” Zayn said, holding up the watch they’d been using to keep time.

“It’s okay, go back to sleep,” Liam whispered.

“I don’t think I will be able to…” Zayn shook his head but clambered back into his sleeping bag once more.

Liam pursed his lips and breathed out, allowing the faint breathing of the others to lull him to a zen state. Whimpering turned his attention to the couch, clenching his stomach muscles.

“Harry,” he stepped over and knelt before him.

The whimpering grew louder, turning to straight cries.

“Harry sh… sh…”

“Harry!” Louis now also knelt beside him.

Harry’s eyelids flew open and he cried out, scrambling back on the couch.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Harry said.

As soothing as it was for the cultured voice to reach his tympanics, despair clutched Liam’s soul at the words.

“Liam…” Louis grabbed his wrist and dragged him back. “It’s okay, Harry. We’re going to back off, okay?”

Harry whimpered once more. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Harry, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” Niall now joined the group. “We’re so happy to hear your voice.”

Harry’s green irises flicked from Niall to Liam to Louis, staying on Louis.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Harry, your safe, okay? No one will hurt you here.”

Harry tilted his neck, focusing his attention behind them, before a maniacal laughter exploded from his mouth. Liam spun his head around and saw that Harry had been looking directly at Zayn, before bursting out laughing.

“Harry?” Louis asked.

“Safe…” Harry’s laughter devolved to his specific brand of cute giggling.

Liam’s memory of Zayn’s kissing Harry the night before ( _yes, you weren’t dreaming. Zayn was kissing him_ ) now took in a darker meaning.

Tbc…


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all who are reading and for the positive feedback.  
> Warning in this chapter for reference to the apocalyptic pandemic that has been taken from Stephen King's "The Stand", as well as the usual rape references (poor Harry). I understand, for obvious reasons, it may be triggering.

The traumatised, violated Harry continued with his frenzied giggling, and all Louis’s own friend-deserting body could accomplish was to stand and watch.

His best friend.

The one he would supposedly do anything for.

Louis considered himself to be a kind person, a strong person. When Captain Trips hit, he took whatever precautions he could to make certain his family in England were safe; paying for food, alcohol and games to be delivered so they could self isolate, self-isolating himself in Los Angeles and being stringent with the use of masks, even if it drew the ire of others. Not that it mattered, with a 99.9% rumoured death rate. Still, he could have done more. He could have said “Damn it I need to be with them!” and boarded the first plane back to England, before the technology blackout hit, career be damned. He could have been there, holding his mother’s hand, as she drew her last breath.

Louis could appreciate that little irony. He was aware that, solo-career wise, out of all of the five men, though he had still accomplished a myriad of goals, his post- One Direction break up career was the least successful. Harry was, of course, the most successful. He never begrudged the curly-haired man his great fame. No, of all of the boys, Harry deserved his incredible achievements. To Louis, Harry was the most talented; the best singer, the most charismatic, the funniest, the sweetest, the most genuine, the most beautiful….

Louis’ stomach muscles spasmed.

No, it wasn’t right to romanticize Harry in such a fashion.

He recalled the incident, five years before, when both were sitting in Louis’ apartment, smoking a joint, two months after he and had broken up with Elaenor, for the first time. He wasn’t even sure how the intimacy occurred. One moment, they were laughing over a ‘fail’ youtube video, the next, Harry was leaning over and brushing their lips together, his hands tender in Louis’ hair, his mouth warm, tasting of pot and the potato crisps they had been consuming.

Louis had been the one to pull away.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” he’d said, at the time. “I can’t.”

Although clear disappointment had crumpled Harry’s delicate features, he hadn’t begrudged him his cowardice, had not even treated him differently. Instead, Harry had simply smiled and asked for more chips.

The kiss wasn’t mention again.

Because cowardice, it was. When Harry was in the room, Louis’ heart beat faster, his fingers itched to touch him, lips to kiss. Harry was beyond all he could possibly want. He told himself at the time he wasn’t ready for the public scrutiny that came with being in a relationship with another man, even if it was with the Harry Styles, who didn’t care for others’ perceptions of himself.

No, Harry deserved more than himself.

Still seated on the couch before him, Harry’s giggling tapered off and a loud exhale whistled through his teeth.

“Harry…I know it’s difficult….” Liam said. “How hurt are you? Do you need medical attention?”

_Oh god, Harry…_

Louis dug his fingers into the flesh of his abdomen, in an attempt to ease the painful clenching of the muscles.

He had secretly been broken up with Elaenor for two years, had, in fact, hoped the scheduled trip along California coast to record the new album could display to Harry how much he meant to him. That he was an idiot, a coward, a moron…

Too late, he’d left it too late. Thanks to the rapist bastards, Harry would never want to be with another man ever again.

_Harry needs you and you’re thinking about yourself and your own needs. Never change, Lou!_

“I’m no longer… bleeding…” Harry said.

_Bleeding, damn…_

“I’m in…. pain…. Not that it matters…” the resulting smile that upcreased Harry’s lips didn’t reach his eyes. “If they had an std I’m dead anyway.”

“Because of their proclivities, they always got tested…” Zayn now spoke up. “They were the ones afraid to pick up anything. The last one was two weeks before we escaped. All were negative for stds. And because of the outbreak they didn’t….”

“You mean they didn’t _rape_ any other person?” Niall snapped. “Why were you with those men, Zayn?”

“I didn’t have a choice! It was either I join with a group or I end up raped myself or worse!” Zayn snapped back.

Harry shot Zayn an impenetrable expression, his green irises flashing with opaque emotion, facial features scrunching.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Zayn said, stumping out of the room and slamming the bathroom door shut.

“Damn it this is all so messed up!” Niall said, running a distracted hand through his blond hair.

That’s what I keep saying!” Liam agreed.

“One thing at a time… I can’t even focus in the morning without coffee… Harry, I’ll make you one, okay?” Niall said, walking over to the kitchen counter and filling the coffee pot with water from the tap.

Harry pulled the blanket back and stood from the couch, walking over to him.

“Oh no, you don’t have to…”

Too late, Harry was, still with laborious movements, searching the cupboards for cups.

Liam frowned and beckoned Louis to him.

Puzzled, he followed Liam out of the room, into the vestiary.

“What is it?” Louis asked, leaning against the shelves of folded priest’s robes ( _maybe Harry would bring about a new fashion style with these clothes_ ) and folding his arms.

“I’m just going to say it,” Liam said. “I think Zayn was not just an… observer. I think he participated in abusing Harry.”

“Oh, come on…” Louis scoffed.

Zayn had obvious struggles, as anyone had, but he would never imagine him even brushing past Harry without apologizing profusely.

“It doesn’t add up," Liam continued. "He doesn’t have a mark on him. Look, when I rescued Harry, it was clear he was friends with the other prisoners. He wasn’t there as a captive. All three of the others talked openly about… about raping Harry. Even bragged about it.”

A brief shudder zapped through Louis’ body, twisting his inner viscera.

“What did happen?”

Deep furrows appeared in Liam’s forehead, as his eyebrows drew inwards.

“One of them was in the kitchen, cooking dinner. Zayn and another one were standing and talking. Harry came in with the third of these assholes. The asshole said they were looking for rooms to sleep in for the night, pretty much bragged about the fact he’d just raped Harry. I had to….” His adam’s apple jolted up and down as he swallowed. “I had to pretend I was… on their side, that I disliked Harry… that I was also a sleazy asshole…”

“Couldn’t have been too hard….” Louis couldn’t help but joke, even with the distressing subject matter.

“Yeah, and fuck you…” Liam smiled.

“There’s the spirit.”

Liam smirked, shook his head and continued. “I made up a story about smelling cyanide gas in the other rooms and that I’d show them rooms they could sleep in. Then the other two started fighting over Harry! One of them wanted to come with me so he could rape him in the room and the other one wanted him to stay so he could rape him.”

“Oh my god…. poor Harry. How he must have suffered…” Louis unfolded his arms to dig his nails into his thighs through the fabric of his jeans.

“All three of them admitted to me… a complete stranger… that they were fine with sexually abusing Harry… weren’t even the least phased by it. Honestly, it was as though they were talking about playing scrabble!”

“How did you get out?” Louis couldn’t bring himself to consider the implications of what Liam was saying.

“Well, in the end, it was decided we could have a ‘band reunion’ of sorts, and when we came back, then they’d…. I took Harry and Zayn out of there. Honestly, Lou, it doesn’t make sense… If Zayn isn’t their victim… and I saw no evidence that he wasn’t… he must have been a participant…”

“I just… I can’t see it…” His mind flashed on a memory from their One Direction days; Harry had been hit on the face by a flying water bottle from the crowd and, once they were in the green room, Zayn had spent five minutes calling the water bottle thrower all manner of names.

“It’s fine, it was clearly an accident,” Harry had said, still holding a coldpack to his face.

“Doesn’t matter. They shouldn’t have thrown it to begin with, Hazza,” Zayn had said.

_No, I refuse to believe Zayn would ever hurt Harry._

_Or maybe I don’t want to…._

“There’s another thing… Last night…. I swear I was dreaming…. I woke up to see Zayn kissing Harry. I’m positive Harry was asleep and he was kissing him on the lips.”

“But…. Why?”

Liam shrugged. “Why not?”

“This is a lot to think about…” Louis admitted.

“We’d better go back in. Let me talk to Niall. I’ll see what he thinks… Believe me, Lou. I want to be wrong about this…”

With Louis’s brain dazed, as though he’d been smacked himself by a water bottle, both came back through the vestiary into the kitchen, where Niall and Harry stood facing each other, coffee cups in hand.

“Ooh that is nice! Thank goodness the gas is still on in this place, huh?” Niall asked, and took another sip.

Harry’s upper lip quirked. It was only a minor movement, but it was enough to send tingles through Louis’s being.

“And where’s _our_ coffee?” Liam asked.

Harry jumped, the coffee from his own mug spilling onto the bench top.

Damn, sorry, Harry,” Liam said, coming over and grabbing one of the two other coffee cups placed out on the counter.

Harry walked over to the kitchen sink and grabbed the dishrag, mopping up the spilled coffee. Louis took a cup and spooned in coffee and sugar, then poured milk and hot water, watching Harry take his coffee to the table and sat down, grimacing. A quick debate resolved in his brain and he came over and pulled up a chair to sit beside him. The door to the bathroom opened and Zayn came in. He’d changed out of the prison outfit into civilian clothes he’d evidentially found in the priest’s wardrobe. Louis noted Harry curling in on himself, his shoulders tensing, neck bending. He caught Liam’s eyeline, then looked to Zayn, who was side eyeing Harry, before sitting down on the couch on which he’d slept.

None of this made sense.

None of the entire previous three months made any sense. The majority of the humans of the planet dying? The resulting violent chaos in the streets of the major cities? The Eiffel Tower being bombed, killing hundreds, the Big Ben falling, crushing those beneath it, the gunman who shot hundreds in front of the White House just before the surge hit. People were already suffering, and yet, it kept piling on and piling on. Fresh tragedy every day. This couldn’t be happening. When would he wake up from the never-ending nightmare?

“Niall…” Liam said and signalled for the Irish man to come with him.

Harry’s neck shot up as he watched the two step out of the room. His distraught features met Louis’s.

“Where are they going?”

Louis risked reaching out to gently tap the top of his hand. Harry grimaced and pulled his hand away.

“What is this?” Harry asked.

“Harry, what if we talk? Just you and me,” Louis said.

Harry slid his chair back, “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

_Okay, what’s-?_

“Harry-“

Harry lifted his mug and slammed it so hard against the table the ceramic broke into pieces.

“Harry!” Louis slammed his own chair back and standing up. Zayn also stood from the lounge.

“Please, don’t come near me!” Harry said, holding a sharp piece of shard out in a defensive gesture. Please!”

“Okay, okay,” Louis took a step back.

The door opened and Liam and Niall came running back in.

“Harry!”

Harry dropped the shard back onto the table and placed his head in his hands, sobbing.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Fuck!” He curled his fingers into his fist and slammed it against his knee.

“Harry…” Consequences be damned, Loius gently took Harry’s hand in his.

“Louis no… I don’t want…”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Louis let his hand go.

Harry sighed. “I’m so messed up. I know you’re trying but…. Please don’t touch me right now.”

An angry yell sounded behind them. Louis turned, to Niall pushing Liam up against the couch, with his fist raised.

“What did you do to him? What did you do to Harry you sick prick?”

“Nothing! Fuck off, Niall!”

The two tussled, falling off the couch and onto the floor to continue slapping, punching, elbowing and kicking each other, but without enough force to truly hurt each other.

“You fucking asshole! You fucking raped Harry, didn’t you?”

“Fuck you, Niall!” Zayn screamed.

“Alright, alright this is getting us nowhere!” Liam said, pulling Niall off Zayn.

Louis glanced to Harry, whose olive flesh had paled, eyes widening.

“Guys can we all just… just calm?” Louis said, not taking his eyes off Harry, whose irises were taking on the disturbing vacant sheen of when he’d first entered the church, his chest rapidly rising and falling.

Upon viewing Harry’s distress, Niall slumped and Liam let him go.

“I didn’t touch him,” Zayn murmured. “But I didn’t stop them from touching him either. I was so scared.”

Harry cringed, his entire slender frame spasming.

“I need to…. I need to be alone…” The chair flew back, slamming into the wall, and Harry swiftly walked from the room, into the vestiary, closing the door behind himself.

Louis stood up and followed. Liam moved to come with him but he placed a hand up in a ‘stop’ gesture.

“Let me talk to him, please.”

He continued out of the room, to Harry sitting in a chair by a shelf of multi-coloured fabrics. picking at the fabric on his ill-fitting jumper, his knees drawn up to his chin.

“Please leave me alone,” Harry said.

“Is that what you want? If so, I’ll do it.”

Harry breathed out through his nose.

“I don’t know…”

Louis tentatively took a step forward, pulled out a chair and sat into it. Both were silent a long moment.

“You were really coming to find me in New York?” Harry said.

“Of course, that was the plan. We saw you come in. We were in the chemist across from the Hyatt, been staying there a few weeks, well in the rooms above.”

“You recognised me?” Harry was still plucking at his jumper.

“You actually stood in front of the store window. We could see out. You couldn’t see in. Harry, we were pretty convinced you had been abused. You weren’t wearing any pants and we noticed… blood…”

He expected Harry to flinch but instead his brows drew in together, in an attentive gesture, which impelled Louis to continue.

“And a couple of those assholes, well we saw them harass you. Anyway, we came up with a plan to save you. Liam volunteered to go in. We didn’t even notice Zayn. We were so intent on you.”

Harry bit his bottom lip. “If they’d hurt Liam…. They could have easily…When I saw him, I remember being so relieved but also so…I was terrified they would hurt him as well. But then he…” the famous dimpled smile displayed. “He convinced them, as well as me, that he hated me, that he was fine with what they were… He’s a good actor.”

“Harry, I need to ask, did they hurt Zayn as well? Or was he… Liam thinks he was… involved…”

Harry’s lips now twisted in a lopsided non-grin.

“When I smashed the coffee cup, I could have cut you! I’m so sorry. What’s wrong with me?”

“I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through… what they did to you…”

Harry ceased plucking at his jumper and folded his hands together in his lap.

“Zayn told me he had to protect himself in prison. I admonished him for beating up a couple of other prisoners. I shouldn’t have… Sometimes I can be so irrational…”

“None of this is your fault. Okay? None of it!”

Intelligent green irises caught Louis’s blue and Harry unclasped his hands to take Louis’s.

“I had to get out of New York,” Harry said. “I was terrified. Everyone died. Everyone. The film set closed after…” He paused. “I should have gotten out of there. But by that time, everything had descended into such chaos. I stayed in my hotel room. There was constant screaming and gunfire outside. Even when I came out, when the screams and gunfire had stopped, I was still terrified I was going to get attacked. It wasn’t until I came out of New York that I felt safe…. Ironic really…” He took a deep breath. “I was camping when Zayn came to me with the other men…. I thought,” his voice broke as his eyes glistened. “I thought they would be fine because he was with them.”

Tears now splashed down his cheeks. Louis squeezed Harry’s hands tighter, his own eyelids burning.

“I know you won’t hurt me, or Liam or Niall. Intellectually, at least.”

“Zayn…” Louis furrowed his brows.

“You’ll all want to hurt him… maybe you should…. No, no I can’t say that. Please don’t hurt him.”

Louis swallowed what little saliva was left in his mouth, to keep from shouting his frustration. Harry had all but confirmed that Zayn had been one of his attackers.

_I feel sick._

In that instance, the door to the vestiary clashed open, and the very man himself came stalking through.

“If Harry is going to be a part of this conversation then we should all be listening!” Zayn shouted, as Niall and Liam walked in behind him. “You are all making me out to be the villain!”

“That’s because you are!” Liam shouted.

Harry dropped Louis’s hands and stood, so Louis followed suit.

“It’s always the same,” Zayn paced back and forth as he ranted, hands flailing. “You have no idea of what I went through! None at all! The first hour in prison two men came up to me and threatened to rape me. They told me they could get me anywhere, anytime. And that was only the first hour! Yeah, I heard about all of you. Harry with hit record after hit record. All those Grammys while I couldn’t sleep, convinced someone was going to come into my cell in the middle of the night. It was constant to begin with. The sexual harassment. Them pinching my ass or trying to grope me. So yeah, I found the toughest prisoner I could and I beat him up. and then again. And you know what? After that, no one touched me. You all have no idea about the real world. None of you! Harry all disappointed because he broke up with yet another supermodel or gorgeous actor. Oh, fuck that! The level of pretention with you people is off the map!” He now stepped forward, closer to Harry. Louis instinctively stepped between them. “Harry with your fucking gender bending dress on magazine covers… oh so controversial… and coming out as pansexual and rainbow stickers on your guitar. You think you’re oh so fucking edgy, so courageous! I had to spend two years defending myself. None of you visited, none of you wrote. I lost everyone! Gigi moved on. All you did, Harry, was stick another sticker on your guitar and talk about kindness. What about your kindness to _me_?”

“This proves to me what a fucking asshole you are,” Niall said.

“No, wait, wait. He’s right. I didn’t write to him. I didn’t visit,” Harry admitted, stepping out from behind Louis. “And he’s also right that it’s not courageous for me, a man of extreme privilege, to support causes where the true heroes are.”

“Oh, here we go,” Zayn rolled his eyes and Louis had to use all of his resolve not to attack him, as Niall had earlier.

“But one thing I always try not to be is a hypocrite. When I said treat others with kindness, I meant it. And I tried hard to live by that mantra. But I also told my fans to be true to themselves, and stand up to people who oppress them.”

A line appeared in the middle of his forehead, and he touched a thumb to smooth out the flesh before he spoke, his tone its usual soft slight elongation. As the words were said, his voice didn’t quiver once, nor did tears gather in his eyes.

“Zayn, when you came to me with those men, I thought they’d be okay, because they were with you. A man I still considered a friend. Yes, I hadn’t visited you, and that is on me. But the punishment, Zayn? Did that fit the crime?” His green eyes darted from Niall, to Liam, to Louis, before his long dark eyelashes flicked down, as he studied his feet. “They held a gun to my head and forced me to undress and you didn’t say a word. Then, they forced me onto my knees on one of their coats. I thought you’d stop them, but still. Nothing. Clint went first, choking me on his dick, while Brutal held a gun to my head.”

A sharp intake of breath sounded behind him, followed by a sob from Niall. Beside him, Liam’s eyes sparkled with tears. Louis had no tears in him, not yet. His stomach ached, as though Harry had driven a fist straight through the hollow viscera.

“Then Brutal stood before me and forced me to suck him off, then Frankie. I was terrified. I remember thinking I had to do well because I didn’t want them to shoot me. And with that came such deep shame. Even now, it’s settled right into my very core. I’ll never be rid of it. Frankie came in my mouth and the others laughed. Then you stood before me. Remember how I begged you not to? You grabbed me by my hair and made me suck your dick. How long had you been fantasizing about that? In all of those fantasies, was it ever in the form of a rape?”

Zayn didn’t reply, staring back at Harry, with the rage that had permeated his system now diluted, to weary acceptance.

“Then, when Brutal and Frankie held me face down onto the coat, you didn’t come to my aid. When Clint forced his dick up my bum, you didn’t say a word. The others were cheering him on. I remember that. Like it was some kind of sick sport. He came in me and I remember thinking what has he passed on to me? I was always so careful with my own protection. So yes, it’s nice to know they all got tested, when they were _raping_ other men. How _thoughtful_ of them. Because they _all_ came in me. First Clint, then Brutal then Frankie. They held a gun to my head and held me down and buggered me till I bled, till I screamed from the pain. But still, they didn’t stop. _You_ didn’t stop them. Then, after all three had buggered me, then you went. You lay on top of me and I begged you to stop. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh god, Harry…” Liam whispered.

“Still, you stuck it in…Did you know I once had a crush on you? When we first met. Not overly so. And it didn’t last long. But never, in all of my fantasies, did I ever…it fucking hurt. I bled. And after, after you’d come inside me after making me bleed, you helped me dress. And they made me sleep with them, in the tent. Did you know I didn’t sleep that entire night, waiting for the next round? And you… you cuddled me, as though we were now fucking lovers! I hated it!”

An obtuse emotion flickered in Zayn’s dark irises but he didn’t talk, as Harry continued.

“The next day, as you know, I tried to make a run for it. And Frankie, he started to strangle me and I thought this is it. No one will even find my violated corpse.”

“I pulled him off you,” Zayn murmured.

“Yes, you did. You stopped him from killing me. But you didn’t stop him from taking off my clothes once more and forcing himself into my bum again, this time with me on my back so he could stick his revolting tongue into my mouth, or Clint from buggering me again after, or Brutal from forcing me to choke on his dick once more. You didn’t stop yourself from jerking off onto my face, as though we were in a porno fucking film. Why did you do that? Why didn’t you stop them from tying my hands, or forcing me to walk around without any trousers? Why didn’t you stop Clint from taking me out to “check the rooms” where he once more buggered me into the mattress? Liam stopped them. Even at the risk of his own life. Within two minutes of meeting me again, he managed to take me away from _my own rapists_ \- including _you_ \- to make sure I was safe. And then. Last night. You kissed me. I pretended to be asleep. And you kissed me like we were lovers. Like you hadn’t spent the past two days repeatedly abusing me.”

Zayn then said words that crushed Louis’s soul.

“I’m not going to deny it. Everything Harry says is true.”

The tsunami erupted; harsh, shrill sobs emanating from Harry’s larynx, as he flung himself on Louis’s chest, drenching his shirt with water and snot, as his hands clenched at the back of his shoulder blades. Louis wrapped his arms tight around him, stroking his back, in a futile attempt at comfort, as his expression of shock replicated in the faces of Liam and Niall.


End file.
